


today's the day

by brokenEisenglas



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon)
Genre: Ambiguous Time, Background Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Wedding, alternating pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenEisenglas/pseuds/brokenEisenglas
Summary: Today’s the day. It’s been a long time in coming, honestly. But, no two deserve this more than them.AA Steve and Tony get married.





	today's the day

**Author's Note:**

> A day late in submitting for the AA Anniversary Celebration (because I'm trash). Here's a semi-tropey, touch of angst, mostly fluffy wedding fic for our beloved Steve and Tony, who deserve the happiest of futures.
> 
> I don't normally write fluff things. I tried. I hope it works, but I tried.

The last six months have been a flurry of activity at the Tower. In the spare time between saving the world and running a global technology giant, there’s been planning. _Lots_ of planning. Colors and themes,flowers and decor-- He’s sure they should have picked a different color scheme. -- designers and fittings. Music and seating and invitations-- Odin above, did they send out all the correct invitations?-- and locations and back-ups and back-ups for the back-ups and emergency exit strategies for each because _surely_ the villains of New York and the world won’t allow _just one day, please, ONE DAY!_

A small hand pats Tony’s shoulder, stopping his frantic pacing.

“Tony.” Natasha says. “You do know that everything is going to be fine, right?”

“Yep,” because villainy will _absolutely_ wait until after the wedding. “Sure will be.” Bullshit.

Clint snorts from where he sits playing with a deck of cards. He and Natasha have helped with the getting dressed and ready, and with the time quickly approaching and nothing left to do, the archer has gotten bored.

The team has been an unexpected balm during all the distress. Well, unexpected to Tony at least. He’d known Sam would help Cap; the kid had imprinted on their leader almost since meeting him. Steve’s always stealing Tony’s things-- not that Sam is a thing, per se-- but Steve has a tendency to appropriate, may be a better word, what Tony is working on, or who with in this case. The kid started out by moonlighting as a technologist only to turncoat and dress for the Star Spangled Singers.

The mental image of Sam gladly shimmying around in the red, white, and blue frills and thrills makes him laugh so hard he can feel the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, threatening to smear the mascara there.

In the mirror, Natasha and Clint are staring at him like he’s lost his mind. To be frank, he probably lost at least his sanity a long time ago. Or, maybe not so long ago, he amends, thinking about this last year since Steve had proposed. Dinner at Gargiulo’s, ice cream at the shops on the boardwalk; then, kicking off shoes to take a late night stroll on the beach. They hadn’t even made it to the ferris wheel yet before Steve had pulled the ring from his pocket. He’d looked gorgeous cast in the carnival lights.

It was perfect.  Steve’s proposal had been _perfect_ , and it’d be Tony’s luck that the wedding would fall to shit...

“Stop your worrying, Stark. Not like Cap’s gonna leave you at the altar or anything.”

… or, won’t happen at all.

“Clint!”

“Oh, god.”

It’s gonna be a disaster.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“Is my tie on straight?”

“Yes.”

“And my hair?”

“It rivals mine own.”

Steve looks himself up and down in the mirror. The baby’s breath boutonniere in his jacket pocket sits bright and perky, freshly picked and pruned, preening in its spot like that’s where it was always meant to be. _Everlasting love_ , the thought makes him smile.

Tony had been absolutely laboring over the wedding details. Besides the first arguments for a strictly red, white, and blue color scheme-- _No, Tony. Just… no._ \-- Steve had convinced Tony to settle for calmer, muted versions of their battle gear. In fact, Steve had brushed a theme off altogether because their colors _are_ the theme. Then, Steve had taken the flowers…

Tony had labored for weeks over the flower choices. He’d thrown around options and arrangements, and after many frustrated nights and yells at the ceiling, he’d given Steve the list and left the final selection up to Steve.

Reflecting on it now, Steve realizes that that may or may not have been the best idea. Tony had given him an unpriced catalog, telling Steve that it wasn’t his worry to have. So, each table has its own arrangement, each symbolizing the many aspects of their relationship. Steve’s frugal heart had nearly frozen at the final cost of the floral delivery alone. _I hope he likes the arrangements…_

“Did you two decide whether you were wearing these or not?” Sam holds up a the pink blush vest and Steve sighs.

“Yes. Thor, would you?” He shrugs his shoulders and shakes off the navy tux jacket. Thor happily takes the fabric from Steve, gently hanging it over one large, tightly fitted forearm.  “Thanks.”

Thor’s massive for the suit, Steve thinks, but the charcoal and periwinkle reminisce of his armor. Tony had also planned most of the designer wear, or more accurately had each Avenger assigned their own personal designer. Each piece was handmade to complement the others, but until today, no one had seen another of the team’s attire.

Of course, even with only seeing Sam’s and Thor’s outfits, Steve knows they’ll all be a sight to behold.

“Go ahead and put your arms back, Cap.” He lets Sam guide his arms through, buttoning the front. Sam smooths down the back and checks for debris and the tag. Steve’s grateful because he’s frozen in place at the mirror.

He’s… handsome? Pretty? He’s not quite sure what word Tony would pick but… he looks good, _really_ good.

“Wow.”

“And that, my friend, is without the finishing touches.” Thor eases the jacket over the shirt sleeves, and pats Steve’s back none-to-gently. With the buttons finished and the boutonniere in place and his hair perfectly coiffed and gelled, he looks, “Magnificent!”

“Gotta say, Steve, Tony sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

Even if all else falls through, at least Tony’s sure they’ll look good. Villain pops-in like “Here’s Johnny,” doesn’t matter. The squad had got it. Paparazzi want someone to smear? Too bad. Hulk’s smashing it. Steve decides he doesn’t want to do this and bails?

Well… Tony tries not to even consider that as a possibility.

“You’re a jerk, Barton.”

“How’m I being a jerk, Natasha? Huh? It’s not like--”

“It doesn’t matter what it is or isn’t ‘like.’ You don’t--”

They’ve been at it for minutes-- maybe even hours!-- now, and he can’t bring himself to bother. Their bickering’s par for the course, anyway, and there’s no use in stopping them. They’re like kindergartners, and Tony’s lost his ability to rangle the children anymore today.

“You guys mind, oh, I don’t know, zipping it? At this rate, I’d take an elope to Vegas than deal with all this,” he waves his hands in their general direction, “ _this._ Jeez.”

Heck, eloping to Vegas _does_ sound like a good idea right this moment. They could hop in the Asten, roll to the private strip, and take the jet. Just him and Steve, grabbing a random stranger to play witness to a cheap Elvis led marriage; then they’d hit up the strip, waste not only Tony’s money but themselves, have really intense pseudo-intoxicated sex, and then Tony would suffer the hangover the next day while Steve made him breakfast in bed while looking guilty and--

Okay, _maybe_ it’s not one of his better ideas, but… they could work with it, right? At least he wouldn’t have to worry about poor personal music selection or the guests’ glaring judgment as the great and infallible Steven G. “Captain America” Rogers literally ties the knot with the extremely indecent and licentious Tony Stark.

He sighs,despondent and alone. The man in the mirror is attractive. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’ll have at least two of the guests proposition him within hours of taking his vows. With his luck, some Pap will see, snap a photo, and then the tabloids Steve reads will be plastered with his and some bimbo’s face, and it’ll all be for naught. He’d told Steve he shouldn’t be the one to wear white, if either of them were to wear it at all, and now he’s dressed in this sharp, slim-fitted three piece tux with a periwinkle button-down and pocket square, and the tie is loose because his nerves are shot and it’s too tight, and he doesn’t think he’ll wear it. It honestly looks better without the thin fabric wrapping around his neck like a makeshift noose.

“You’re wrapped up in your head again,” Nat says.

She and Clint stand on either side of him. Clint’s rocking his charcoal three piece. The designer’s chosen a fabric with some arrow patterning; it’s fitting. The blush looks good, accenting the suit, with the little baby’s breath resting in the pocket. With Natasha next to him in her three-quarter length black and wine cocktail dress, baby’s breath decorating her hair, they’re  astonishing.

The archer fidgets in place, finally asking, “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He’s got the jitters, is all. There’s only minutes to go; he’s about to marry the love of his life, and he has everything he could ever ask for. So, he straightens his posture, smiles as sincere a smile as he can manage, and shakes his head. There’s nothing to share.

“Come on, then,” Nat’s fingers grasp his wrist lightly and pull. He notices the red Aster in clints hand and realizes that it is, in fact, almost time. “Let’s finish this.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

Sam’s phone’s been going off intermittently in his pocket; Steve hears it. He’s sure it’s updates. There has to be less than ten, maybe fifteen minutes to go, and his jitters have gotten worse. Steve’s sure he’s going to vibrate out of his clothes, he’s so anxious. Fortunately for him, he hasn’t started sweating, yet. Not like he was when he’d proposed.

God, what a disaster that had been.

He’d wanted to make the night special; it isn’t often that he and Tony got to go and enjoy the town. But, his suit was late from the dry cleaners. He’d thought he’d lost the ring, misplaced as it was after another attack on the tower, and his room is always one of the ones most severely damaged when villains break through their defenses.

The dinner reservation had been pushed back an hour, and the detail wasn’t done for the Steve’s Benz, so they’d had to take Tony’s Audi. Traffic had been awful, and they were late for their already late reservation, saved by Tony’s easy charm. Then, Steve realized he’d left his cards in the other wallet, and his phone wasn’t set-up with the app pay thing Tony likes to use, and Tony handled that, too.

Steve had been so embarrassed that he’d had to excuse himself to the restroom to prevent himself from overheating and crying fat ugly tears.

Tony’d fixed the phone issue while they walked to the beachfront. From then, the night hadn’t been too bad, until Steve couldn’t feel the ring in the pocket he _thought_ he’d left it in and internally panicked. It wasn’t until they’d reached the walk before the ferris wheel that Steve found the metal band hidden in a buttonable inside jacket pocket that he finally calmed and breathed a sigh of relief.

And when he’d finally paused long enough in his worrying to look at Tony… A shiver of want runs down Steve’s spine at the memory.

“Sorry we’re running a little late, but… two minutes ‘til showtime.” Steve inhales a deep, full breath, and releases slowly. “Hey, man. You’ve got this.”

“Thank you, Sam. Honestly. I appreciate all you’ve done for me for this.”

“It’s not a problem. Seriously. It’s been a pleasure.”

It’s an unconventional wedding. Thor has left to join Hulk in dealing with their guests, a task Steve wasn’t sure he should leave to the duo, but Thor is charming and Hulk more patient than they give him credit. And, while the two can cause the worst of damage, they do make a great team.

“You okay, Cap?”

“Yeah,” he reassures. “Just wondering how Hulk and Thor are doing.”

“Oh,” Sam pauses. Steve cuts his eyes to the kid, raising an eyebrow in silent command. “Ugh, well… Minor crisis avoided?”

“What does that mean?” He straightens.

“Well… Loki is here uninvited, but Thor says he isn’t causing any mischief. Just, sitting with the Asgardians. And, um, Doom sent a package, but that’s been removed from the premises. And--”

“Oh,god,” he groans. “Please tell me no one’s told Tony.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“Showtime!”

They’re running a few minutes late, and if Tony was worried before, it has nothing on this.

“What’s happened?!”

“Nothing, why? What makes you think--”

“Clint, don’t lie.”

“Look, Nat--”

“Archer--”

“I’m not-!”

“You are!”

“Please, would one of you just tell me--”

“Fine!” Clint huffs. “We’ve got unexpected guests. That’s it. Nothing has happened that hasn’t been handled.”

“Who?”

“Now, you’re making us late. Come on, Stark. Music’s about to queue.”

What was that he was thinking about a disaster?

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

They’ve probably picked the best day of Spring so far. The sun is shining brightly; the grass is growing back full and thick, and there’s many flowers in bloom throughout the gardens.

He hadn’t expected Tony to agree to Brooklyn, but he’s glad they did.

The music is playing, and they’ve decided that he and Tony would walk at the same time, meeting at the altar where Strange would be, ready to lead them in their vows. Everything they’ve done has to symbolize this moment, their relationship, and their combined hopes for the future.

And, as Steve walks his path, eyes forward although he yearns to peek, to see Tony as he, too, makes this journey, he forces himself to have patience. So, he walks. Onward.

There are murmurs and tears, and he can feel the excited smiles in the prickle along his spine. Nearly everyone here is approved and wanted. Nearly every guest has been background checked and then spot-checked at the doors. And, although Loki has invited himself (and surprisingly has behaved thus far) and Doom left a possibly hostile gift, there is little to no reason for them to be concerned, because today will be perfect. Has already been perfect.

When he reaches the end of the aisle and stops, a wave of euphoria washes over him, warm and encompassing.

He, Steven Grant Rogers, is about to marry _the_ Anthony Edward Stark.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

He won’t panic. He _refuses_ to panic. Doesn’t matter that Loki is here, and that Victor could potentially cause an international incident on arguably the most important day of Tony’s life.

So, instead of letting the fear paralyze him, he starts walking. They’ve practiced this; he can do _this_.

Tony’s never had social anxiety; he’s not _allowed_ to have it. But, this? Eyes on him, the audible gasps and murmurs…

He told Steve he shouldn’t wear white.

His gut aches, and he wants to cry. He feels like he’s the butt end of a joke instead of the elated joy that he’s been told, that he’s read about, is the norm for life events like this. He’s afraid he’ll vomit as soon as he’s at the front, and every step forward feels like dread. Tony stops at the end of his aisle, unable to look over for even a peek. His body’s sore, psychosomatic in its nature. There’s no reason for him to ache like this. They haven’t had an incident in a few weeks. But, he feels heavy, and fidgets in place, shifting from foot to foot.

They should’ve eloped to Vegas.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

Strange is talking. He’s ‘introducing’ them, as Tony put it. A short summary of them apart, their work, their relationship, and blessings. He’ll say their names again, summoning them both forward to meet half-way; a symbol of their will and desire for compromise, forgiveness, and understanding.

Steve’s antsy, but he holds himself stiff and straight, and awaits his cue.

“... Captain Steve Grant Rogers,” he steps forward, breaking the invisible lined barrier the end of the aisle symbolized, “and Anthony Edward Stark. If you would?”

It’s the moment, his heart pounds in his chest, and he’s suddenly light-headed and dizzy. His breaths are short and quick; he might be hyperventilating. But, he can do this. He’s ready. He’s _been_ ready.

When Steve looks up, his foot catches and he has to upright himself because, _wow_ . The crowd giggles beside him, but Steve doesn’t care because Tony is absolutely _mesmerizing._

And, when those shining caramel eyes meet his own, there’s no one else.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“...Steven Grant Rogers, and Anthony Edward Stark. If you would?”

This is the moment of truth. The worst that could happen is that Steve changes his mind last second and Tony’s left at the altar on what would then become the worst day of his life. He refuses to let the tears fall.

He keeps his eyes down when he steps forward. He’s sure that if he looks now, he will lose it, that he’ll fall to the ground and bawl his eyes out for no apparent reason.

Beside him the crowd laughs and it feels like daggers. But, when he hears the heavy gasp, _Steve’s_ gasp, instinct seizes control. He’s looking-up before he even realizes it, and he’s _so glad_.

The tux is nearly as dark as midnight, charcoal threading patterned into sparse details. The blush bowtie and vest combo complement the suit, altogether enhancing the shine of his hair, the rosy hue of his lips and cheeks, bright white teeth shining in the light of the full sun, and his sky blue eyes...

Steve is… “You look--”

“Wow, Tony--”

“--stunning.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“--you’re,” time felt like it had stopped and with it all Steve’s functionality. He’s sure there’s only seconds to have passed, yet, his lungs feel like they’re burning for air. Tony is, “breathtaking.”

Habitual desires stirs him to reach for Tony’s hand. The crowd coos and aws beside them, and he can tangibly feel Strange’s eye-roll, but he doesn’t care, because Tony is standing there, radiant in the afternoon light. His eyes sparkle and his lips glisten and Steve _yearns_ for him.

The pointed clearing of a throat interrupts the motion. Steve forcibly pulls his hand back to his side. “Gentlemen? If we may?”

“Of course.”

From then it’s ceremony. Words of purpose, of expectation, of encouragement and support. At some point, Strange asks for dissenters, and none rise; Steve would have lost his mind if someone had. Then, Strange summons Odin up, and motions for the rings to be brought, too, and when Hulk comes up and pats his oversized pockets, looking like he’s about to have a heart-attack, Steve smiles as he watches Tony close his eyes and mumble an expletive or prayer, to which Odin casually mutters an “I hear you” and then Hulk finds the different colored boxes. And, if Loki looks like he’s trying not to laugh, Steve ignores that, too. Today is perfect. Their vows are coming and he’s about to be married to the best man he knows.

When they’re cued, they place their palms together, and Odin speaks as Strange wraps the gold cloth around their joined palms. The fabric glows and warms with the enchantment.

Tony’s practically glowing the whole ceremony, eyes never leaving Steve’s, and Steve’s never leaving his. He doesn’t want to miss a single second, neither of them do. The words drone around them. This is their time.

“Steven Rogers?”

Their moment.

“Anthony Stark… Tony,” as tears well in Tony’s eyes, Steve squeezes their hands together, “I love you, with everything I am. When I woke up, I had no one, nothing. I was confused and so lost, and when I felt like I wanted to give up, you gave me a mission, a purpose. I was no longer alone. You gave me somewhere to belong,” he whispers, “some _one_ to call home. Today, I hope to give the same.  I give myself to you in marriage. I promise to encourage and inspire you, to laugh with you, and to comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle. I promise to love you in good times and in bad, when life seems easy and when it seems hard, when our love is simple, and when it is an effort. I promise to cherish you and to always hold you in the highest regard. These things I give to you today, and all the days of our life...”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

 _I love this man_ . It’s a thought that’s been on repeat since, well, since the day the met, the moment Tony laid eyes on Steve still frozen in the ice they found him in. And, no matter how much time they spent writing and revising, then practicing these vows, the tears always _always_ come.

“Steve,” there’s a heavy burn beginning at the back of his throat, and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. Steve’s standing across from him, eyes like a shining beacon of hope and love and delighted joy, “Steve, you… are my best friend. When I look at you, my world is complete. You’re my rock and my rudder, and by your side, I know we can accomplish anything we put ourselves to. You make me better, make me _want_ to be better. You already inspire me, and today, I hope I can give the same. I give myself to you in marriage. I vow to love you as you love me, through all hardship, darkness, and pain to reach for our joys, our hopes, and always with honesty and faith. These things and more I give you today, and every day for the rest of our life…”

Around their joined palms, the golden wrap tightens on its own, the heat just short of scorching, and as Strange chants a few more lines and Odin passes his blessing, the fabric loosens; it wraps itself on its own around their left wrists, releasing the right, and as Strange and Odin move, Hulk brings the small, dainty looking boxes, dwarfed in his huge hands. The crowd chuckles and laughs when he grunts frustrated as he opens the little boxes and presents them.

“Don’t know why you couldn’t have Rapunzel do this,” he huffs and growls.

“Because, Jolly Green, there’s no one better for the job.”

The metal bands shimmer in the natural sun. They’d worked diligently together on these in the shop. Metals comprised of the very shield and armor they use to fight with every day: light, durable, and uniquely their own. As Steve slides the vibranium alloy ring over Tony’s finger, the reality of this moment roots, and as Tony reaches to reciprocate with his gold-titanium hull, the tears that trail down Steve’s beautiful face, Tony recognizes that his husband feels the same.

“Bound by their love and convictions, sealed by the shawl, and recognized throughout this world, Asgard, and the realms of magic and mysticism,” Strange drawls as he removes the glowing cloth from their wrists, “two souls now joined one.”

And, if this kiss is the best he’s had so far in his life, then he knows that every one after will be better yet.

 

 

 

**Epilogue:**

Everyone is always so happy about the ceremony. The speeches and the vows, such a long and boring process. Sure, he’s glad the two of them finally _literally_ tied the knot; he’s actually surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Clint had honestly expected them to elope and not tell anyone about it until later.

Natasha would say something here about how he’s supposed to be ‘Hawkeye’ but, come on. Those two rarely ever fit the bill.

So, Clint had stood still in his assigned spot the whole time. And, after all the ceremonial hubbub, and the pictures, and the people-- _all the people, eugh--_ he’s finally getting a chance to sit down, relax and ignore the reception stuff because, really, he’s absolutely famished. All this emotional stuff builds up an appetite.

And, if he happens to be standing at his table near the platform, his plate overfull of finger foods and sweets, ignoring the cheering and the almost screams, whose business is it anyway? Not like anyone else is going to care. He’s happy. A full plate of fancy orderves and a huge glass of expensive champagne, and he didn’t have to pay for it? He’s looking forward to a food catatonic heaven!

“Clint! Watch out!”

It’s super spy skills and fast reflexes alone that save the plate and the glass. He’s stopped the falling food, thrown it to the table, untipped the drink and caught the--

The bouquet?

“What the--” his eyes expand big, suddenly mortified. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”


End file.
